Inside Westminster: Tales of Hubris and Betrayal No 8
by mrsordinary54
Summary: Hell Knows No Fury is a parody of the shenanigans of the British political 'elite'.


INSIDE WESTMINSTER: TALES OF HUBRIS AND BETRAYAL

8

HELL KNOWS NO FURY

Mandy had her work cut out trying to keep both Potty and Juan satisfied - and apart. She'd even drawn up a timetable on her Smartphone so that she wouldn't make any mistakes. And she'd managed to turn on the tears with Juan about how upsetting it was to have had a long and loyal partnership which had deserved to be honoured with a final few days together before a sad but inevitable parting. Oh how she could turn on the charm and lies.

She had begun to compare the two men and poor Potty was not bearing up well: he was crude, careless and disloyal. Having told her many of his inner thoughts about his supposed friends and colleagues she'd come to realise that his main charm was that he was just 'different' and fun to be with but that had begun to pall and she was finding him quite tiresome and childish.

Juan, on the other hand, was all man: virile, sexy and impressively suave and confident. What's more he was polite to a point where it was breath-taking. And Mandy had begun to like being treated like a lady. Juan even stood up when she entered the room, opened taxi doors for her and insisted on paying for everything, even her spa pampering sessions. She could easily get used to such a life. Work, though a vehicle to meet men, was over-rated in her books.

'So this was what it had been like for mumsey's generation: worshipped for doing a bit of housework and cooking dinner.

No, wrong, Angelica had always had a 'lady who helps' aka a poorly paid drudge who did all the real work of running a household.

Potty had none of Juan's many virtues and Mandy cringed at some of the 'highlights' of their relationship: had he really left that expensive restaurant through the backdoor, leaving some poor journalist or other to pick up the huge bill, had he constantly briefed against practically everyone in the Party, mercilessly promoting himself at whatever cost?

What's more sex with him was beginning to get more than a little boring and irksome and she'd begun to feign sleep to get out of an early morning session. He really stank before his shower and she almost couldn't bear his advances anymore.

'Never mind,' she thought, 'not long now before Potty's history.'

As the wi-fi connection had been playing up in the hotel, Potty for once had been all ears to the World Service and had been scouring any English newspaper he could get his hands on. He was becoming rather disconcerted at the language used by his compatriots back in the House: 'bring her own noose', 'killing fields', 'knives heated up'. It was beginning to sound a little alarming and he was glad to be out of it. Always looking on the bright side, he consoled himself that at least his purposeful gaffes about Muslim women and the PM's suicide vest tactic would be buried under the latest torrent of political vitriol and abuse.

How had supposed gentlemen and the odd lady politician descended to such a level? He liked to use colourful language and imagery himself but even he cringed at the depths his colleagues had plummeted to. He was sure an old Etonian or Harrovian or, indeed, a lady from that estimable college in Cheltenham couldn't be capable of saying such vicious stuff in public; in the bar at Westminster possibly, but not so that the Press could get hold of it.

Yes, it must be those comprehensive school oiks who were bringing the House into disrepute. They really were the 'new kids on the block' and had a lot to learn about the shenanigans of the Westminster bubble: shitting on your own doorstep was self-inflicted wound number one and unforgiveable!

Even Potty realised that the good old British public could only take so much. He'd long since given up trying to make sense of the Brexit rhetoric: he had no idea what the 'backstop' really was, let alone the difference between a temporary transition period or an extended one.

The five-day break soon came to an end and Mandy and Potty were packing their cases just as a bulletin came through on the radio:

'Ptolomy Trudge-Jones and Mandy Swinton-Eagle have announced their engagement following the separation of Mr Trudge-Jones from Sophia Mowbray-Dick.'

Like many modern couples, Sophia had kept her maiden name after marriage. Anyway, she was shortly to take silk, and Mowbray-Dick had more of a ring to it than Trudge-Jones.

Deep in his suitcase, Potty banged his head on the lid as he jumped up with a start.

'What! Where the devil did that come from?'

Mandy was in the bathroom, filling her wash bag with the many gifts given to her by Juan. She was in a heady dream of their next liaison. Having lasted all of two meetings, sex had begun and was at a breathlessly rampant level. She found herself almost unable to breathe at the thought of Juan bearing down on her. How was she to live without this magnificent man in her life? Tears began to well up in her eyes:

'So this was what 'love' was really like,' she thought.

Potty was at the bathroom door, red in the face, 'Have you heard the news? We're engaged!'

Mandy was so shocked that her head swam and she had to sit down on the edge of the bath.

'What?' she wailed.

She hadn't given much thought as to how she was going to ditch Potty, so was dumb-struck and had no response apart from a loud wail of disbelief.

Potty was in front of her on bended knee announcing his deep and profound desire for her, his one true love.

Had he not been saying it to her, Mandy would have laughed out loud. But there he was declaring undying love.

What was she to do? She had a lightning thought of self-preservation:

'Look, quick duck, it's a telephoto lens pointing straight at us.'

With that they both leapt away from the open window, catching their breath and laughing at themselves. The moment had gone and Mandy breathed a sigh of relief, continuing her evasive action.

'We'd better get to the airport asap. Someone in the hotel must have blabbed to the Press.'

For once there had been no leak, intentional, or otherwise and Mandy had got herself off the hook – for the moment.


End file.
